


Never Too Late to Cross That Line

by nightfalltwen



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:48:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24965500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightfalltwen/pseuds/nightfalltwen
Summary: Seeking comfort and perhaps a spot of happiness after the battle.
Relationships: Minerva McGonagall/Madam Rosmerta
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12
Collections: Daily Deviant





	Never Too Late to Cross That Line

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MyWitch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyWitch/gifts).



> Written for the 2020 Bangin' Birthday at **Daily_Deviant**. It's a little bittersweet, I think, but I hope you enjoy the story as much as I did creating it. It's my first time writing this age group and I hope I did it justice. <3

Minerva stooped, ignoring the ache in her back and shoulders, and snatched up the charred Gryffindor banner that had fluttered across the smoking quidditch field. Only half of the lion remained. She looked back to the school, a thick, awful feeling catching in her throat at the sight of Hogwarts. They had won, but perhaps the cost had been too great. Lives had been lost and the school was in shambles.

Someone had called her Headmistress. Filius had called her Headmistress, hadn't he? He'd said something about the last of the wounded being taken to London and then called her Headmistress.

As if all of what happened truly warranted a promotion.

Minerva gripped the burnt banner, feeling the edges crackle and break in her hand. Bits of fabric crumbled away, falling to the ground.

She felt just as paper thin and destroyed. And old. She felt so very old. Older than Dumbledore. Older than Hogwarts itself.

Minerva didn't remember leaving the school grounds. She didn't remember walking through the woods or to the road or past the other shops at Hogsmeade. So when the door to the Three Broomsticks appeared in front of her, she was actually quite surprised. And the fact that the door opened to her knock was even more surprising because even though she had knocked, she'd thought the tavern was abandoned. No word had come from Hogsmeade in weeks and she dared not leave the school grounds to check. Not with the Carrows roaming about.

Soon she found herself seated at a table by the unlit fireplace, a cool glass of gilly water pressed into her hands. Rosmerta didn't even have to ask and even though the situation might warrant something a little stronger, Minerva was grateful that the other woman hadn't offered. She wasn't sure if she could keep her tears under control with the drink in which she normally indulged, let alone something with a much higher alcohol content.

Rosmerta pulled up a chair beside her and set down a medical kit. Without asking she began to apply dittany to the cut on Minerva's cheek.

"I should have stayed..." she whispered, taking a long drink from her glass. "There's so much to organise. So much to clean up."

"They can't expect you to start the process now. It only just ended. People need time to mourn," Rosmerta said, using a soft bit of gauze to wipe away the dried blood and inspect the cut.

Minerva knew that the other woman was talking, that there were words coming from her mouth, but she didn't quite hear what they were. "I have to write the parents..." she said, a soft sob catching in her throat. "There were students. Students who—"

"You need a bath, Minerva," Rosmerta interrupted, swiftly taking the glass of gillywater that had started to tumble from her fingers.

She started to protest. How could she even consider a relaxing bath at a time like this? But her words fell on deaf ears and she found herself being led up to the rooms above the bar. It all happened in a bit of a fog and she wasn't quite sure how but she seemed to be missing bits of time because Minerva didn't remember getting undressed or Rosmerta drawing the bath, but quite suddenly she was sitting in a wide, claw-footed tub that seemed almost too enormous for the room. The water was deep enough that she almost found herself floating.

But how could she relax?

Colin Creevy would never relax in a bath.

Fred Weasley would never relax in a bath.

Remus Lupin, nor Nymphadora.

None of them.

She covered her face with her hands, her shoulders shaking. So engrossed in her own sorrow, Minerva didn't notice the warm hand that touched her back at first. But slowly, through the ache and pain, came a gentle movement over her skin. At first it was just Rosmerta's hand that slowly rubbed a line between her shoulder blades. Then she found a soft cloth and began to run it down Minerva's back and over her shoulders and along her neck. Pins were gently eased from the tight bun at the crown of her head and hair that had once been raven black, now peppered with silver, tumbled down around her shoulders in loose waves.

"They were my students," she said, sucking in a breath and wiping her face. At least with the bath water she could pretend the wetness on her cheeks wasn't from her own tears.

"We all were," Rosmerta said softly, the cloth making little circles over Minerva's upper arm. "But you are only one witch. You couldn't have shielded all of them on your own. You shouldn't blame yourself for the losses. Only one person can be blamed for that... and he's gone now."

The words brought Minerva little comfort. She felt like she could have done more to keep her students, past and present, from losing their lives. Maybe she could have done something better in order to stop Severus or befriend Severus or find out what his game was and how they could work together in some way. Maybe she could have found a way to rid the school of the Carrows. Maybe she should have faced Voldemort herself and shown that evil man that perhaps Dumbledore was not the only wizard of which he should have been afraid.

Quite suddenly though, the thoughts flying about in her head came to an abrupt halt. 

Minerva turned her head just slightly to the side and watched as Rosmerta placed a soft kiss against her shoulder. Their eyes met and Rosmerta dropped the cloth, reaching up to touch the side of Minerva's face and then ran her thumb along the seam of her lips.

"It's not your fault, Minnie"

_Minnie._

The word brought back a flash of memory.

Her office was smaller then, filled with books and papers and so many essay scrolls that she had graded but not returned. The window was thrown open and by some miracle a gentle wind had picked up, bringing air into the room and stirring a few of the quills in the cup on her desk. A light knock on the door and she looked up as an eighteen year old Rosmerta bounded into the office, setting a small tin of biscuits on the desk.

"I'm leaving today, professor," she said, plopping down on the chair opposite Minerva. "Though I suppose I don't have to call you professor anymore."

"You are," Minerva answered, shuffling a few papers and trying not to look at the other woman. "And you do not. Minerva will be acceptable."

"Are you going to wish me luck?" Rosmerta asked, all cheeky grins and sparkling eyes.

"Whatever for?"

"Because my uncle is giving me control of the Three Broomsticks!"

"Rosmerta, your charmwork is far too advanced to be stuck in that sort of a job..." Minerva started to say but stopped when a hand was raised.

"Do you honestly think I'd be suited for the Ministry? At a desk?" She stood quickly and leaned forward, bracing herself on the desk and suddenly the space between them was smaller and a little more intimate. "Me? Pushing paperwork?"

And Minerva didn't understand why her heart was beating so quickly. She didn't look at her students, curvy or otherwise, like this. She didn't notice things like the sparkle in their eyes or the blush on their cheeks. She certainly didn't notice the scent of their perfume—Rosmerta's was a cross between heather and honeysuckle and it mixed with the afternoon breeze in an almost intoxicating way.

"No I suppose not," she finally managed to say, keeping her voice level.

"So come by the Three Broomsticks whenever you want, Minnie," Rosmerta said, picking up a quill and twirling it about before putting it back. "I'll need your favourite drink, though."

Minerva didn't know why she'd said what she'd said and quite possibly it was because she was caught off guard by the diminutive version of her name. She didn't even really like the stuff with it's strange, green and swampy sort of flavour. It was new on the market and not particularly appealing. She could have named a decent scotch and that would have been the end of it. But instead in all her whirling thoughts about the proximity of a student who was no longer a student and very definitely not a child anymore, she blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

"G-gillywater," she said.

Rosmerta looked surprised. "Really?"

Minerva straightened, her cheeks going hot. "Yes, of course. It's very popular these days." She glanced toward the door. "I do have a lot of grades to finalize, however. But congratulations on the Three Broomsticks..." She paused for a moment. "Rosmerta."

Another sparkling smile and the younger witch headed to the door. "I'll see you at the pub, Minnie."

_Minnie._

Minerva made her excuses and left the school grounds to return to Hogsmeade. Rosmerta wasn't exaggerating when she felt the shiver and sadness of the Dementors covering the dark streets like a heavy, sodden tartan. Rubbing her arms, she held out her wand, pulling forth only the happiest of memories. Just in case a patronus was needed, but also to keep the gloom at bay.

She pushed open the door to a nearly empty Three Broomsticks.

"Oh my," she said to the empty room.

"They searched it again," Rosmerta said, grouchily, plunking her sparkling turquoise shoes on the bar top and reaching for a drink she'd poured herself. "I can't afford to keep having this happen, Minnie. If I lose my customers because of the Dementor searches, I'll have to close at night and the day drinking crowd is not nearly as profitable.

She waved her wand and a small tumbler floated out from somewhere beneath the bar, a bottle labelled _Warton's Gillywater_ appearing next to it. Rosmerta filled the empty glass and pushed it toward Minerva.

"I'll speak to Albus and see if he can convince Cornelius to ease off the village. I'm sure if the town limits are watched the rest of the village won't need to be searched." Minerva reached out and rested her hand on Rosmerta's arm.

She snorted and sipped her drink, stretching out her legs and flexing her stocking-clad feet. "That pigeon in a bowler hat... I doubt he'll listen to anyone." She sighed. "I know it's for the safety of the students—of Harry Potter."

Swallowing a gulp of the drink that had been poured for her, Minerva gave the other woman a half smile. "You just need someone who will let you blow off some steam. I am allowing myself to be that person. So you may complain about that... pigeon in a bowler hat as much as you want. It won't leave these walls."

Rosmerta laughed. "You know me a little too well, Minnie."

_Minnie._

It didn't matter who closed the space between them. What truly mattered was the softness of Rosmerta's lips and the depth of feeling behind the kiss. She had been kissed before, of course. It wasn't as if she was this old spinster who never had any worldly experiences. But this was different. Minerva had never been kissed like this and despite everything that she was feeling and all the sadness in the world and the destruction of her home at Hogwarts, the thrill that went beneath her skin at the kiss seemed to make everything just go away.

It took a moment before she realised she was crying.

"Shhh," Rosmerta said, wiping away the tears. "It's not your fault. And we'll heal from all of this."

"It's not that," Minerva said, finding herself reaching for the other women and pulling her back in for another kiss. This time one that was a little more desperate, which was definitely on her part and when it was over her breathing was rapid and her heartbeat was erratic. "I could have... I could have done this so much sooner and I didn't."

Rosmerta twined her fingers in the long strands of Minerva's hair. "I don't know if either one of us were ever in the right place, but it's not too late now." She dropped her hand from the salt and pepper strands to the water.

"I couldn't... You were so much younger. And you were my student," Minerva whispered and watched as Rosmerta's hand skimmed the warm water of the tub before slipping below the surface. Her breath hitched at the light brush of fingertips against her own abdomen.

This wasn't Minerva's first intimate encounter. This wasn't even her first intimate encounter with a woman. The first had been so long ago and the name was one she did not speak. She had explored rosebud lips and sweet smelling skin and dipped her tongue into the soft, wet spots that caused tremors and the buzz that raises hairs on one's skin during a thunderstorm. 

But this was Rosmerta.

And sometimes she'd had those thoughts about the woman whose fingers, hidden beneath the ripples of the bathwater, were tracing circles over her skin. Sometimes late at night over the years her own hand had traced the exact same path, fingers dipping down between her legs as her mind wandered to explore the thrilling idea of 'what if' as she pulled shivering fantasies out of her mind that led to equally shaking orgasms.

What if she'd pulled Rosmerta into her arms in her office the moment she wasn't technically a student? What if she'd been bold and swept the papers from her desk, pushing the younger girl's thighs apart and burying her face between them? What if she'd used all the times she'd stayed late at the pub to indulge in something much more carnal than anyone would ever expect of her?

Except she never explored the 'what if'; it always stayed a fantasy.

Until now.

"Not here," she said quietly, leaning forward to pull the stopper in the bottom of the tub. 

She stood, stepped over the edge and faced the other woman. But instead of a long moment of staring, Rosmerta closed the space between them, hands on Minerva's cheeks and kissed her deeply. Perhaps if she'd been another person or if Rosmerta had been another person there might have been a moment where insecurities of age and wrinkles and the fact that her breasts weren't as full or her stomach as tight might have come to the surface. But instead there was just Minerva's mouth and Rosmerta's mouth and a kiss that neither one of them wanted to stop.

The first round was quick with a flurry of clothes left strewn along the hallway as they left the bath and found their way to the bed. After the battle, Minerva had felt old. Far too old to have endured what she'd just gone through. But Rosmerta's hands brought a feeling of youthfulness back into her skin and the two women touched and caressed and kissed and explored until they were both spent.

"Don't stop to think about anything beyond these walls," Rosmerta whispered, her face lit only by a single candle at the side of the bed.

She pressed a kiss to Minerva's collar bone and then to the soft skin between her breasts and down over her stomach. Moments before she'd been left quaking and the soft caresses now brought a longing sensation to the spot between her legs. Minerva had learned early on to be quiet when it came to the bed. She hadn't ever wanted someone to _know_ what was happening behind her closed door.

But Rosmerta's door wasn't even closed.

And her tongue drew a long, and very loud, moan from deep inside Minerva's throat. It was a moan that she didn't know that she could make or even care if anyone heard. Tongue changed to fingers and then back to a nimble tongue and her knees pulled up, heels digging into the bedcovers that she was sprawled across and Rosmerta's curly hair was tangled in her fingers as she held the other woman closer and wished she hadn't waited so long for this.

"Stop," she gasped, the pleasure coiled so tightly in her belly that she thought it would burst from inside of her. "Stop."

Rosmerta lifted her head and a concerned look crossed her face, but Minerva beckoned her with a crooked finger and when they were side by side, face to face, she smiled. There were no questions or clarifications. Instead it was the guiding of fingers and tracing of lines. Her hand moved down over Rosmerta's hip and then to the damp curls between her legs, until she found the younger woman's clit.

"Together," Minerva whispered, pressing a kiss to Rosmerta's lips, relishing, not recoiling, at the taste of herself on them.

She began to draw circles.

Rosmerta's fingers began to mirror Minerva's movements, circling and dipping at almost the exact same moment. It didn't take long to coax out a second orgasm, and Minerva thrust her fingers into Rosmerta the moment the volume of her moans increased and the other woman bucked against her hand, her thighs clamping together. A few moments later the same sensation seemed to wash over Minerva and she rocked against Rosmerta's hand, riding out her own orgasm.

Hours later, Minerva found herself curled against Rosmerta, listening to the other woman's soft sleeping breaths. Her fingertips drew lines of text, old poems in gaelic that she had memorised such a long time ago. To think that a bubble of stark happiness could be formed after such devastation was almost impossible to believe.

She would deal with the world beyond the bubble once the morning came.

But she kept herself awake in hopes that morning wouldn't come all that quickly.


End file.
